A week later, Akio Kudo called and said AW was ready for pickup. Emily was both excited and filled with apprehension. She couldn’t wait to see the new and improved dog promised to her, but what if AW hadn’t changed? What if he was still the barking, snarling, jumping, bottom-wiping, out-of-control maniac she’d dropped off at the trainer’s? What if he was incurable?
Then what?
She didn’t want to get rid of AW. She’d grown to miss him, and realized she actually wanted him in her life. But what if he was still impossible to live with? She couldn’t risk losing her beloved apartment—her one familiar haven in a chaotic world.
As she drove the long expanse of freeway between her house and Venice, she remembered what Tyler had said about the trainer, Akio Kudo: “He works with the top celebrity dogs in the world. He even trains them for the movies. And he guarantees every dog.” That somewhat eased her mind. If anyone could fix AW, it was Akio Kudo. She was paying top dollar for the guy, so he had to be the best.
She pulled up in front of Akio Kudo’s small bungalow situated on a quiet residential street near the beach. The first time she’d been to the nondescript house, she’d been surprised that a celebrity dog trainer lived there. Tyler assured her that in Venice, anything goes and things aren’t always what they seem. He said the shacks on that street were valued in the millions. Emily hadn’t believed it until Tyler pointed out Sammy “Guillotine” Lee, international action star, watering his petunias next door. She recognized him from all the bad martial arts movies she’d endured with Lenny, and wondered if Mr. Lee’s lips moved out of sync with his voice in real life, too.
Emily walked up the path to the front door. The trainer’s shingle read the same as his business cards: “Akio Kudo: Concierge Trainer to the Stars,” and below it dangled another shingle signed with autographs of all the dog owners he’d worked with. She saw nothing but famous names.
Michael Jackson had a pit bull named Spanky?
Emily knocked, and Akio Kudo opened the door with a big grin. He was a small effeminate Asian man who wore his hair spiked up in an elaborate mix between a Mohawk and a pompadour. He wore a long, colorful braided jacket and designer flip-flops. Dark glasses were perched on his nose, though it appeared to be fairly dark inside his cottage.
“Hello, Ms. Keane. So wonderful to see you!” He kissed her on both cheeks. “Come, let’s go around back to the kennel. AW is waiting for you.”
Emily followed him down the steps of the front porch and around to the side.
“You will be so pleased at the results,” Akio Kudo said, unlocking a tall, wooden gate. “He is truly a new dog.”
“He doesn’t bark anymore?”
“Not at all. Unless you command him to, of course.”
“Good, because if he makes even one peep—”
“He’s fine.”
“And what about the butt-wiping? You know the motion he makes with his rear end?”
Akio Kudo stopped and fixed his eyes on her. “Ms. Keane. Do you not understand who I am? Did Tyler not tell you?”
“Yes, yes, he said you work miracles. But I just want to make sure that AW has really changed.”
“I fully guarantee my work,” he said, ushering her through the gate. “That should tell you something. You will see that your dog is now a well-trained Schutzhund, the kind of animal even the German army would be proud of.”
Emily blinked. “Excuse me?” She didn’t know if she’d heard him right.
Akio Kudo waved his hand blithely, closing the gate behind her. “Just a saying. Seeing as you have a German shepherd, I’d think you’d want him trained as well as any Gestapo dog.”
Emily gulped. “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly.”
Akio Kudo grinned as they strolled down the narrow brick path. “Forget the semantics, Ms. Keane. The point is, you’re going to be very happy with how I’ve molded AW. All of his issues are gone. And it wasn’t an easy task, let me tell you.” He cleared his throat. “About that. As we discussed at his drop-off, I double my fee for certain problem dogs, depending on the extent of the . . . er, corrections. In AW’s case, I will have to charge you three times my usual fee due to the work involved. Are you on board with that?”
“Of course. I expected as much.”
“I’ll need to collect payment before we continue.” He stopped and looked at her expectantly.
“Sure. How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
She gasped. She’d assumed it would be in the hundreds. Maybe a few thousand, tops. But ten thousand dollars?
Akio Kudo gazed at her shrewdly from above his sunglasses. “All the charges are listed on my website, Ms. Keane. Room and board with high- thread-count bedding, organic Vegan dog food, daily vitamin injections, canine psychoanalysis, daily behavior correction and reward system, and of course, detailed grooming. All included in one price. Yours, however, is a bit higher due to the amount of work involved. As you were well aware, your dog had a very bad tic with his bottom that took extensive reconditioning. ”
“Yes, of course.” Emily opened her backpack. His fee seemed extraordinarily pricey, even for a celebrity dog trainer, but why should she care? Money was no object to her, not with a million dollars to spend, and she conceded Akio Kudo had had his work cut out for him.
Still, her frugal nature rebelled at squandering such a large amount of money. “Do you offer cash discounts?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Never, darling. Many of my clients pay cash. I need to make a living, you know, and how can I if I’m constantly offering discounts and coupons like your run-of-the-mill Vons store?”
“Who said anything about coupons?” muttered Emily under her breath, sorting through banded stacks of bills in her backpack. It was the principle of the thing that bothered her. Akio Kudo was using his fame to take advantage of people, overcharging for the “luxury experience” he offered. He probably charged five hundred dollars for an organic dog bone. And high-thread-count bedding? Where did the mutts sleep, the Ritz Carlton? None of these things impressed her. All she cared about were the results, and she hoped he delivered.
She handed Akio Kudo a brick of hundreds. Another brick fell out of her backpack, and she shoved it back in.
He raised his eyebrows. “Sweetheart, if you’re going to carry around that kind of cash, I can see why you need a well-trained Schutzhund by your side.” He counted through the bills swiftly, then shoved them into a pocket in the front of his braided jacket-slash-robe. Grinning, he led her around the corner to where the dogs were kept.
There were no sounds of barking, like one would expect at a normal kennel. Instead, the place was eerily quiet. In the beautifully landscaped back yard, there were rows upon rows of large stainless steel dog cages. Inside each carpeted cage was a round, plush dog bed draped with a luxurious (presumably high thread count) sheet and a velvet dog-bone-shaped pillow. At the foot of each bed was a basket of colorful squeaky dog toys and a battery operated CD player.
“The dogs respond well to classical music,” Akio Kudo explained.
On the luxuriant red carpeted floor of each cage lay matching china bowls filled to their brims with sparkling water—oxygenated mountain spring, Akio Kudo pointed out—and bright green dog food. The dog bowls were unbroken, Emily noted, and that fact alone spoke to Akio Kudo’s apparent effectiveness.
All varieties of dogs, from small Chihuahuas to huge Great Danes, were represented in Akio Kudo’s rows of shiny steel cages. Each animal sat quietly at attention, as still and unmoving as the specimens at a taxidermist. Only their eyes, which respectfully followed Akio Kudo as he passed, gave away that these were living creatures.
Emily craned her neck down the line, looking for AW. She spotted him sitting regally in a far cage, his fur glistening white. He sat there stiffly, waiting. No tongue lolling, no jumping, no growling, no snarling. No barking, and no butt swirling. Just a poised, well-behaved animal waiting for his next command.
Emily stared. Was this the same dog? She walked to the cage and put her hand out. Instead of slobbering all over it like he usually did, AW sat staring straight ahead, obediently waiting. She thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, but he didn’t dare turn his head until prompted.
Akio Kudo spoke something in German, and AW stood. He smiled up at Emily with his eyes, panting gently. Akio Kudo unlocked the cage, clipped a leash on him, and turned to Emily. “Here, take him.”
AW looked at Emily expectantly and waited.
Emily took the leash, staring down at her dog. Had this trainer gotten rid of AW’s soul somehow, and put a Stepford dog in his place? It was hard to believe this was the same animal.
“Walk him in circles. He’ll follow,” said Akio Kudo.
Emily walked around in a half circle. AW followed closely at her heel, dutifully, smooth as butter.
Akio Kudo said something sharply in German, and the dog sat. Then he said another command, and the dog lay down. Then another, and the dog stood rigidly by Emily’s heel. Another sharp command, and the dog sat once again. All of these movements were swift, methodical, easy. It was if the dog were on a puppet string, effortlessly controlled with the slightest flick of a wrist.
Emily gaped at AW and then at Akio Kudo, who grinned proudly. The dog stared straight ahead, not a peep coming out of his mouth. His butt was planted firmly on the ground—a first for AW if there ever was one—and he looked every inch the fully trained dog. It was worth all of the money she’d spent. Every single cent. She could actually see herself living with this animal!
“Those commands you’re saying. What are they? Can I learn them?” she asked.
“They’re German commands, and I’ll give you a full list,” said Akio Kudo. “We find that dogs respond best to German sounds because they’re sharp and distinct. More forceful, you see. Also, we don’t want to take the chance of an intruder using an English command and controlling the dog against you. So German commands work best.”
Emily nodded. This sounded logical enough. She’d start memorizing them right away. “What’s the first one I should learn?”
Akio Kudo stroked his chin. “For most dogs, I’d say ‘Braver Hund,’ which means ‘good dog.’ But for AW the most effective command has been ‘Bleib!’ which means stop, or stay.”
“Blip,” said Emily, trying it out.
“No, repeat after me. Bl-eye-b.”
“Blipe.”
“Yes, that’s closer. The list has phonetic pronunciations, and there’s a CD included, for listening in the car. I suggest you start practicing right away.”
Emily nodded, fingering AW’s new, harness-style leash. He sat calmly at her side, nose pointed straight ahead. This was all too good to be true. “What can I say to get him to come with me?”
“Komm, pronounced shortly, like this. Komm!”
“Komm!”
AW jerked to attention, his body taut with awareness, eyes on Emily.
“Go, he’ll follow,” said Akio Kudo.
Emily walked toward the front gate. AW trotted dutifully next to her, close to her heel. If she moved slightly, so did he, never leaving her side. They passed through the gate, AW strutting proudly with his ears pricked for the next command. So this is what it’s like to own a good dog!
“Wait here,” said Akio Kudo, motioning to the front porch of his bungalow, and disappeared into the house. He re-emerged with a handwritten receipt, the command list, and a packet of instructions. He handed them to Emily, along with a pair of large, fluffy earmuffs.
“Everything’s in there. Think of it as your homework for tonight.”
“What are the earmuffs for?”
“Put them on AW when you’re practicing the commands to yourself. So he doesn’t get confused.”
Sounded reasonable enough. Emily took the earmuffs and paperwork gratefully. Akio Kudo sure did think of everything. There was a reason he was the best. She’d had to pay for it, but it was worth every dollar. Unable to contain herself, she leaned over and gave him a heartfelt hug.
He patted her back awkwardly. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s wonderful to see such changes in a wayward creature.”
“You truly work magic.”
“I always do.” Smiling, Akio Kudo glanced with faux-modesty down at his fingernails. His face was the picture of arrogant confidence.
I suppose if I were that good at something, Emily thought, I’d be cocky too.
“Can I call if I have any questions?” she asked.
“Of course. It’s in the guarantee. Any time.”
“And shall I sign your shingle now?” She couldn’t wait to put her name next to Michael Jackson’s.
Akio Kudo cleared his throat. “No, that won’t be necessary. It’s, er . . . out of space.”
✓ ✓ ✓
On the drive home, Emily repeated the commands along with the CD, keeping the volume as low as possible. She glanced in the rearview at AW sitting majestically in the backseat. He was gazing out the window with the large pastel-blue earmuffs perched on his head. Even his expression looked different somehow, as if he was now the dog he’d always yearned to be. He was quietly confident with a serene expression in his chocolate-brown eyes, and Emily found herself admiring him. He looked like a show dog with his shiny white fur and regal posture. Maybe she could even enter him in a contest. He was so beautiful and well trained that he’d win for sure.
“Nein,” she whispered to herself. “Schlechte hund.” Bad dog. She figured she wouldn’t have to use that phrase, but it would be good to know it anyway, just in case. “Platz, Gib laut.” Down. Speak. “Geh, Legen, Fuss.” Go, Lie Down, Heel. “Aus, Gut!” Out, Good!
This was easier than she’d thought. She was even beginning to sound a little German, although she pronounced some words as if speaking through a mouthful of peanut butter. But with practice, she could do this. She’d have it down in no time. And once she had these commands memorized, there’d be nothing else to worry about.
At home, AW was perfect. He sat dutifully at her feet until she commanded him to get up, lie down, drink, or eat. He didn’t whine or paw at the furniture or slobber all over everything like usual. He didn’t jump or chew or bark or tear the place apart. Instead, he waited quietly for every command with an obedience that surprised and pleased her.
That night, she brought AW’s bed into her room so he could sleep next to her. He trotted over to it without any fuss, then sat stiffly and waited as she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. He was still waiting when she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She smiled over at him, and in his eyes she saw his gladness at being home with her.
“Legen,” she whispered, and he lay down in his bed. He put his head on his paws and watched her for a while longer. When no other commands came, he closed his eyes and slept.
✓ ✓ ✓
The howling started around midnight.
Emily sat up with a jolt. AW had his long snout pointed toward the ceiling. A long, mournful sound came from his throat. It echoed in long waves against the walls and ceiling, causing Emily’s heart to constrict in panic.
She flipped on the lamp. The dog continued howling, long drawn-out O sounds.
“AW, shh!” she hissed, pointing her finger at him. He kept howling, loudly. She fumbled around on her nightstand for the cheat sheet of German commands. She found the list and began thumbing through it in panic.
“Nein! Ruhig!” she shouted.
AW stopped and looked at her.
“That’s right, quiet. Now achtung.” Pay attention.
AW stood, waiting.
“Sitz.” AW sat. “Good dog. Braver hund. Now legen! That’s right, lay down. Time to sleep.”
AW lay down and closed his eyes. Emily relaxed. Good, the commands still worked. Maybe AW was just out of sorts after being gone from home for so long. Even animals had to adjust to new surroundings, and Emily had bought new furniture so the place looked different. She needed to be patient with AW. She just hoped the neighbors hadn’t heard.
Just as she closed her eyes, the howling started again, this time longer and louder. “Awwwwoooo. Aaaaawwwwwoooooo!”
She jumped out of bed, shouting German commands. Once again, the dog quieted. Once again, she commanded him to sleep, and once again she climbed back into bed, her heart racing.
“AUUWWWWWWWwwwwooOOOOOOO!”
“Oh my god, AW, stop! Nein! Nein!”
Again he stopped.
And again she climbed into bed, and again he started howling. Each time it got louder, and each time it took longer to get AW to follow her commands. As she became more agitated, so did he, and his howling took on an eerie Hound of the Baskervilles quality.
Emily became more and more flustered, and in her exhaustion, began mixing up her commands. “Aus! No, not out. That’s not right. Come back here, AW! Wait, let me try again. Fuss! Yes, that’s right, heel!” Then AW began wagging his tail at her as if it was all a game, which was a very bad sign.
“Achtung, AW. Gib Laut!” She’d meant to say “sit,” but called out “speak” instead, and suddenly AW was barking at the top of his lungs. “Nein, nein! Achtung! Achtung!”
Someone began pounding on the door, loudly. Oh no! Panic gripped Emily.
“Nein!” she shouted. The howling began again, so long and drawn out that Emily couldn’t think straight. She frantically grabbed the earmuffs and plunked them on her head to muffle the sound. She swiftly thumbed through the command pages with shaking fingers. AW was walking around in circles now, his nose pointed to the ceiling. What was the command for heel again? That’s right, fuss!
“Fuss, fuss!” she yelled. AW came swiftly to her side and obediently heeled. Through the earmuffs, she could still hear pounding on the door. The earmuffs didn’t seem to work much at all, come to think of it.
Pound, pound, pound! “Open up in there, Miss Keane!”
It was Mrs. Greely, the apartment manager. Bubbles of fear rose in Emily’s chest. Dizziness swirled through her brain. What was she going to do? She looked around wildly. She had to hide AW somewhere. She couldn’t lose this apartment. This was her sanctuary, her home! She seized AW’s leash and quickly tied him to the bedpost.
“Bleib!” she said to AW.
He stayed, watching her obediently with his liquid brown eyes, his body poised and at attention next to the bed. Good, now if only she could keep Mrs. Greely from coming into the bedroom.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Emily muttered to herself. She threw on her robe and headed to the door. The pounding grew louder.
“Miss Keane, open up at once!”
Emily could hear faint voices outside, as if a crowd had gathered. Before she opened the door, she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. The calmer she acted, the better.
Mrs. Greely was standing there in curlers and a robe, her bulldog face smeared with some sort of oily night cream. Behind her stood Mrs. Koster, whose eyes were magnified to the size of saucers behind her thick, plastic-rimmed glasses. She stood there, frowning and blinking, her arms crossed in indignation. There was also crazy Trans-Fed Bill, his hair greasy and matted around his head, wearing leopard print boxers and smirking. Other assorted neighbors nosily craned their heads to get a look at Emily, their expressions tired and annoyed at having been awakened in the middle of the night.
“We heard your dog,” Mrs. Greely said in an accusing tone. “It’s been howling. But it seems you’re well aware of this by the earmuffs you’re wearing.”
Emily gulped, realizing how she must look in the huge blue earmuffs. She yanked them off her head and shoved them into her robe pocket. She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Um, I sleep in these. They, er, keep my ears warm,” Emily said, stumbling over her words. “They keep out night sounds, too. You know, cars. And crickets. Things like that.”
Bill snickered. Emily cast him a glare.
“And the earmuffs also keep out dog sounds, I presume?” said Mrs. Greely. “Now open up, please. I need to see the evidence myself before I start eviction proceedings.”
“Dog?” Emily tried her best to look innocent, pulling her robe closer around her. It was cold out, colder than she’d expected. She was shivering.
“Don’t play games with me, young lady. We heard the howling come from your apartment.” Mrs. Greely poked her finger at Emily. “There’s a dog in there!”
“I thought it was a coyote. Or a wolf,” said a young neighbor, the pixie-faced teen who sometimes sunbathed in the courtyard wearing a Hello Kitty print bathing suit.
“A wolf?” Bill guffawed. “There aren’t any wolves in Redondo Beach.”
“Well, it sounded like a wolf,” said the girl peevishly.
Old Mrs. Koster huffed, her avocado-sized eyes glaring at Emily. “Someone needs to put a stop to the carryings-on that have been happening around here lately,” she said indignantly. “There have been too many disturbances. We’re respectable people living here. Well, some of us are, anyway.”
Bill snickered.
Emily gulped, cringing at the angry faces glaring at her. How was she going to get out of this? “I . . . I thought I might have heard a dog, too. Maybe there’s a stray outside somewhere?”
Mrs. Greely took a step forward. “We know you have a dog in that apartment, Miss Keane. Stop the shenanigans! You know very well this is grounds for eviction.”
“No, no,” Emily said, stuttering. Her heart squeezed tight, panic building in her chest.
“Open the door. Now.”
“No, I can’t, I . . .”
“Now, Miss Keane!”
Suddenly, there was a loud crash from within the apartment. The neighbors exchanged glances then fixed their eyes on Emily. She stared back at them, petrified, her heart racing.
Mrs. Greely pushed past Emily and threw open the door.
There—dragging the stump of the bed post behind him and leaping around the room like a lunatic dog on springs—was AW. He had sofa-stuffing hanging from his mouth as he jumped from couch to table to chair amidst broken lamps and knocked over plants. The neighbors gasped. Every inch of the room had been destroyed, in just the few minutes it had taken for Emily to go outside, by this leaping, twirling, crazy beast-from-hell.
“AW, Fass, Fass!” shouted Emily, remembering the word for “heel.” It was only when AW turned around and began snarling wildly, foam coming out of his mouth, that Emily realized she’d said the wrong word.
“Fuss” means heel. “Fass” means attack.